


Walls Come Down

by TokyoRose_2006



Series: Meet the Kirks [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Family, Family Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand & Finger Kink, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Life, Romance, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Bond, Vulcan Language, WAFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 16:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19176784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TokyoRose_2006/pseuds/TokyoRose_2006
Summary: In which Jim builds a wall between himself and Spock, and must seek him out to tear it down for the sake of their son.





	Walls Come Down

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes hello, friends. I decided to take a break from my current WIP bc honestly that shit was just getting too heavy, man. So I tried to write a fun little Spirk family short story that ended up as this monster. There's some ~marital discord~ and a cute tween Vulcan involved, plus a hefty dose of angst rounded out by Jim just being a slut for his husband. 
> 
> There's also a lot of Vulcan in here bc honestly I think it's a super pretty language and it's the closest thing I get to bilingual/ESL representation in fanfics, so. Yeah. I put the *ROUGH* translations down at the bottom, but it's all relatively contextual.
> 
> Also, the name Sonak I read first in an AMAZING story: A Bump in the Night by DB2020, and since I've seen it in a couple other stories I can't remember the names of, and it just fit so perfectly that I've borrowed it for this story. So, credit where (at least I think) it's due.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! This is my very first attempt at a married/domestic piece and I'm sorta proud of it. Thanks for reading, guys!

“Father.”

“Sweetheart.”

Jim repressed a smile. Even with his back turned, face buried in the pile of PADDs, data chips, and empty coffee mugs spread haphazardly across the desk in his study, Jim could all but see the uncomfortable shift to the set of Sonak’s shoulders. He always loved to ruffle his son’s little Vulcan feathers, and the older he got, the more fun it seemed to become. More often than not, with Sonak’s 11th birthday rapidly approaching, Jim felt less and less through the family bonds that used to thrum so vividly in the periphery of his mind and instead relied on his intuition to divine Sonak’s moods and feelings. The bittersweet realization caused Jim to stir in his chair, the small delight of his fatherly embarrassment of his son flagging.

“ _Sa-mekh_ has instructed me to inform you that he has completed preparation of the evening meal.”

Jim pushed his glasses up into his hair and turned to face his son, setting the PADD in his hand against his knee as he rotated his antique leather office chair. This time, he couldn’t possibly restrain the amused expression that spread across his face. He tried to respond with as little exasperation as possible, reaching up to adjust the glasses slipping down his forehead.

“Dinner is ready,” he said softly. “Spock sent you to tell me that dinner’s ready.”

Sonak inclined his head with a slight cant that Jim knew well. He gazed at Jim with an even, expectant stare that was frustratingly familiar. Jim nodded with a mild, indignant sound, reaching for his glasses.

“Thank you, Sonak. I’ll be along as soon as I finish up some work.”

Jim moved to slide his glasses back down to rest on his nose, tapping the PADD in his lap absently against his knee. With his empty hand, he gripped the arm of his chair, set to spin it back around to face resume his work, when he noticed the sudden, deep furrow between his son’s eyebrows. Jim turned his chair slightly more toward Sonak, pushing his glasses down his nose and peering over them at the boy.

“Sonak?”

Sonak shifted minutely, drawing Jim’s appraising eye, his paternal instinct piquing. “Some clarification seems necessary,” he said tightly, obviously stalling. After a moment of quiet staring between father and son, Sonak’s gaze flitted away momentarily before returning to hold Jim’s. “ _Sa-mekh_ has instructed me to inform you that he has—”

Jim lowered his chin, peering intently over the rim of his glasses and raised an eyebrow. Many had faltered in the wake of that stare, friend, foe, and First Officers alike, and Sonak was no exception.

“That dinner is ready,” Sonak finished awkwardly. The stilted manner of his prim speech partnered incongruously with the casual statement in a way that caused Jim to grin. The just visible tinge of green blooming across Sonak’s cheeks, still round with the last vestiges of baby fat, warmed Jim’s heart, and so raptly was he suddenly recalling the treasured memories of that sweet, passive face that he nearly missed Sonak’s continued explanation.

“ _Sa-mekh_ has also tasked me with ensuring that you accompany me to join him in a timely manner.”

Jim schooled his features with a speed and efficiency that Spock would have applauded. His face betrayed nothing of the frustration and indignation that rose in his chest at Sonak’s words. Logically--and Jim applauded himself for his self control as the word tumbled through his mind--he understood that Sonak couldn’t have known the loaded nature of his words, couldn’t have recognized the hurt woven within them, the added underhanded sting of hearing them from his son. But even knowing as much, Kirk bristled, smarting.

It hadn’t been an easy shore leave. In all honesty, it hadn’t been an easy few months for Kirk and Spock, but things had reached a seething boil between them over the past few weeks. The Enterprise had settled easily enough into the Starfleet Headquarters shipyard in San Francisco about two weeks ago for refit and supplies in preparation for their upcoming diplomatic mission, a year-long foray into the far reaches of the Neutral Zone to pursue--yet again--negotiation talks with the Klingons. Prior to returning to Earth, however, it had seemed that all of the forces of the universe were conspiring to try the mettle of Kirk and Spock’s relationship.

Disagreements on the bridge had ended poorly and settled in the porous structure of Jim’s insecurity to fester and devolve into arguments in their quarters about appearances and insubordination. Drifting eyes had led to hurt feelings disguised as “logical concern for crew morale,” projects had failed, communications had been stymied. Above all had been the deep, inescapable and often manic pressure and fear that had shadowed Jim’s every waking hour: Sonak’s safety.

As a fairly new family, Starfleet had granted them leniency among the regulations on family separation and permitted Sonak aboard the Enterprise for its latest mission. They had used their fledgling family bonds with Sonak, less than three years formed at the time, as the primary basis of their appeal, and Sonak’s huge, caramel colored eyes as their back up.

It had been a blessedly quiet 18 month mission, with no major foul ups or red alerts to speak of. This, however, was not enough to dampen Jim’s hyper-protective instinct, which seemed to bristle at anything and everything that could conceivably pose a threat to Sonak, and--according on many occasions to Spock--many things that couldn’t. His habit of sharing this observation each time it occurred had led to a number of particularly ugly disagreements where Spock remarked on Jim’s seeming preoccupation with Sonak and its negative effects on Jim both personally and professionally.

The worst of these had come nearly three weeks ago, the day they had returned to their home on the Vulcan consulate grounds just 30 minutes north by transport from Starfleet Academy. Spock had suggested baldly while they had been washing the dishes hip to hip, closer than they’d been in almost a week, that Jim consider Sonak spend the duration of their upcoming mission on New Vulcan. Jim had been so shocked by the statement that he hadn’t been able to react. Spock had assumedly taken his silence for a moment of consideration, as he’d continued, unperturbed, to justify the ludicrous notion.

He’d shared the patently outrageous news that Sarek had expressed an interest in rearing his grandson, and was “gratified” by the possibility of fostering the boy while Jim and Spock were on mission. Spock had listed a number of other rationales in a flurry of words that largely buzzed uselessly about in Jim’s head: cultural exposure, academic challenge, familial bonds. As he went on, Spock’s hypothetical rationales became more an elaboration of a fully formed, concrete plan only awaiting Jim’s approval.

The final straw, though, had been when Spock had calmly supplied that Ambassador Spock had agreed that Sonak’s staying the year on New Vulcan would undoubtedly be in the boy’s best interest. Jim recalled sharply how angry he had been, how betrayed and blindsided he’d felt. He’d asked the questions that had burned in his chest in angry, rapid barks that he would have regretted under normal circumstances. How could Spock have gone behind his back to make plans for Sonak’s life without him? When had he had the time to make such inquiries? Why hadn’t Spock consulted him first? And how, how had Spock believed that Jim would want to live an entire year without their son, unable to see him, watch him grow, protect him?

Jim, to his credit, had somehow managed to generously concede that the Ambassador, of all clearly guilty parties in this situation, had not only the right to impress his perspective on them as Spock’s counterpart, but a right to voice his opinions on Sonak’s rearing as the boy’s godfather. But even that concession had hurt, as it only seemed to drive home the fact that he felt somehow doubly betrayed by both Spocks, two of the only people in the universe he would turn to in his time of need having consulted each other on such a sensitive and imperative subject without him.

The fight had been one for the Kirk household history books, neither man backing down from his respective points and perspectives. It continued for longer than Jim could remember any of their arguments having lasted before, increasing in ferocity and futility with each passing moment. The fight had ended some hours later with Jim slamming down the pot he’d been aggressively drying for no less than 15 minutes. He had stomped from the house without his communicator, stating in no uncertain terms that he would be back when he got back and leaving Spock green tinged and perplexed, stating that his assertion was redundant, to which Jim responded in even less uncertain terms that Spock could sleep in the guestroom, which he had that night and each night since.

However balked Jim was by his husband’s gall, he stilled his tongue and relaxed the muscle suddenly jumping in his jaw. He closed his eyes momentarily and pinched the bridge of his nose, disguising the frustrated tick by removing his glasses. He folded them into his palm, focusing on the flex of his fingers to distract him from the grinding of his teeth. As his eyes slid open and Sonak filled his vision, the words, “Tell your _sa-mekh_ ” died on his tongue.

Sonak’s hands were clenched at his sides, the tension in his fists so tight Jim could see the infinitesimal tremon in them. He noticed, too, that Sonak’s eyes no longer met his, but were focused intently just below, on the lobe of his right ear. It was his signature tell, the tight fists and the not-so-subtle diversion of eye contact.

The heat of his annoyance iced over in Jim’s chest. You selfish bastard, he thought, remorsefully. In his flurry of indignation, Jim had allowed himself to forget how difficult these types of intricately emotional situations were for Sonak to process. The family’s bonds were still young, particularly that between Sonak and Jim who, though anomalously non-psi null like most humans, still struggled daily with his ability to thoroughly shield his often tumultuous mind from that of his son. And now, with the added strain of attempting to keep Spock out of his--their--conscious mind, he was sure that his emotions had to have been plaguing the boy as of late.

Jim’s heart clenched. Sonak was so young, too young, to be burdened with not only his own emotional schooling and control but Jim’s flagrant human emotionality as well. Although Jim loved Sonak, and had done everything in his power to anticipate, analyze, and respond to all of Sonak’s emotional needs, he couldn’t bring himself to deny that as far as dads went, Sonak had gotten a bit of a raw deal by proper Vulcan standards. He was suddenly flooded with insecurity and more than a little shame. The indignant rage he’d felt at the recognition of Spock using Sonak as a carrier pigeon soured to hypocrisy. He felt the sensations so acutely that his eyes began to prickle, and the familiar golden thread of his and Spock’s bond thrummed in gentle inquisition.

Jim allowed his annoyance to respond for him across the bond before shielding his emotions and turning back toward his son. He slid his glasses back up over his forehead and leveled his boy with a warm, familiar smile. He let his eyes flicker to Sonak’s hands as he rose from his desk chair. As he watched the long, thin fingers relax at his son’s sides, Jim’s smile widened.

“Let’s not keep him waiting, then.”

X

Jim and Sonak walked into the dining room to find the table set and waiting for them. Sat on the thin, decorative cushion on the right side of the table was Spock, legs folded and handsome, impassive face somehow managing to project a complexly rigid and serene air that made Jim’s heart swell with appreciation for his bondmate. The sharp, tight lines of the Vulcan’s body called to Jim’s eye as well, causing a swell of lust and possessive pride to slip across his faltering shields.

Spock looked up and caught Jim’s gaze, his inscrutable eyes alight with the mixture of amusement and bemusement that Jim so often evoked. The familiar sight wormed a bloom of affection from Jim for a bright and loving moment.

“ _Sa-fu_ ,” Spock said as they entered and sat at their corresponding floormats, Sonak’s a deep forest green and Jim’s an intricate design on black, alight with gold and blue flowers. “ _Ashayam_ ,” Spock greeted him, voice redolent with affection, at least by Vulcan standards.

He placed his hand on the table, palm up, and folded all but two of his fingers, offering an _ozh'esta_ to his beloved.

Jim adjusted himself on his mat and made a show of settling at the table and reaching across for the steaming vessel nestled in a hand-knitted cozy. He lifted the ladle without casting so much as a glance in Spock’s direction.

“ _Plomeek_ again?”

X

Jim closed the door to the guest room with a quiet click and stood for a moment facing the door, willing his pulse to quiet, his lungs to fully expand. He had returned to his study immediately after dinner, leaving Spock and Sonak to their nightly ritual of rigorous academic drills and meditative practice. He’d pretended not to notice the pinched look on Spock’s face as he’d quietly bid the two goodnight and wished desperately that he had been able to ignore the look of plaintive longing that flashed across those handsome features as he kissed the top of Sonak’s head.

After several frustrating hours’ worth of trying in vain to read and sign off on requisition requests and status updates, Jim had poured himself a drink and sprawled gracelessly in his office chair. The whisky disappeared as rapidly as his will to continue working in vain, and he set the tumbler down with a clack before hauling himself from his chair and leaving the maddeningly stagnant space of his office for what he’d intended to be a long, relaxing shower. As he’d closed the door behind him and turned, however, there had been Spock.

He had been frozen in the doorway of the guest room, hand still on the doorknob, silky black meditation robe tied loosely at his waist. Jim had paused, his eyes trailing down that lean body with abandon, lingering on the dark thatch of hair peeking from the divide in the robe. His eyes dropped to follow the V of exposed skin that ended between sternum and navel out of sheer habit, and felt himself stir. Jim ignored first the familiar stirring warmth that the sight stoked in his belly, then, with a more concerted effort, the answering spark of desire in the back of his mind. Shielding his mind against Spock’s tentative psychic touch and the devastatingly disappointed look in his dark, deep-set eyes, Jim had averted his eyes with only a hint of reluctance and stalked off toward their bedroom, a long, decadent hot water shower, and what he was sure would be an unsatisfying attempt at relieving the tension that had coiled in his groin at the sight of his handsome Vulcan lover in an even vague state of undress.

He had been right, of course, and had exited the shower nearly an hour later, damp and every inch as irate as he had entered. He’d stomped through the room stubbornly refusing to feel its largeness, its emptiness. He opened and shut the drawers with more force than explicitly necessary, searching furtively for his Academy PT shirt, the now threadbare garment a source of grounding calm that was not at all similar to the “security blanket” of Joanna’s that Bones recalled whenever Jim would tear around their old dorm room in a tizzy searching after it. He rooted through the drawers, laundry, and the yawning blackness beneath the bed, through his luggage and his closet, his search growing in fervor until he swore and sat heavily on the bed, cradling his head in his hands.

It was useless. He could tear the house apart and even if he found the shirt, it wouldn’t soothe the restlessness under his skin, the aching absence in his mind or bed, the soft, wet gleam of Spock’s eyes in the low light that followed him into darkness when he squeezed his own shut. He was miserable. Justified, indignant, and utterly miserable. Jim scrubbed a hand over his face as he blew out a frustrated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

It had been only moments later that Jim had let out an explosive sigh and stood decisively, if not reluctantly, and propelled himself across the room and down the stairs. Before he’d known it he was knocking on the door to the guest room, palm damp against his fingers and clammy with nerves. Spock’s placid voice had replied, “Enter,” and Jim had done so, turning immediately to lock the door behind him and freezing, hand still on the access panel, the swish of the door closing echoing in the small space. And so he now found himself, staring at the dull gray of the door, preparing himself to face the love of his life and somehow manage to miraculously hold his resolve.

What felt like hours passed as Jim stood there, struggling to reconstruct his shields piecemeal into some semblance of control. The effort rocked on shaky feet as he felt Spock shift behind him. Concern, confusion, and no small amounts of relief and joy prodded at Jim’s bond, gently requesting to fill Jim with promised, tantalizing warmth. Ok, it’s fine. Keep it together, Jim. Jim’s mind buzzed with the attempt to keep his tenuous shields in place despite his wavering resolve. The hectic voice in his head gained intensity as he heard the soft sound of Spock’s feet against the floor.

You’re mad. Livid. So, so angry. You just came to talk. You can talk mad. You can...Jim’s thoughts came to a screeching halt at the touch of a hot palm to his waist, the gentlest kiss of a cloth-covered chest to his back. Shit. Jim’s resolve quivered for a valiant second before collapsing completely. His head dropped back onto Spock’s shoulder of its own accord and he sighed, feeling the tension bleed out of him almost instantly.

“ _Ashayam_ ,” Spock said, the endearment a warm, damp breath to Jim’s temple.

Jim let out a quiet groan, a sound redolent with relief, dismay, and desire in equal measure. He reached a hand upward and tangled his fingers in the thick, inky hair at the nape of Spock’s neck. His eyes slid closed as he let his fingers scratch lightly over the Vulcan’s scalp. Jim lolled his head on Spock’s shoulder, settling so his lips were a scant inch from the pulsing column of his throat.

“You know I’m mad at you, right?” Jim murmured without a hint of venom.

A low rumble reverberated through Spock’s chest, raising the hairs pleasurably on the back of Jim’s neck, as he tipped his head the slightest bit backward into Jim’s touch.

“To surmise otherwise in the face of recent events would be illogical.”

Jim split his energy between resisting the timbre of Spock’s voice and the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’d say ‘pissed the fuck off’ is probably more appropriate.”

Spock stiffened behind Jim, but didn’t relinquish his hold on Jim or move away from his touch.

“I guess I just...it was a shock. I couldn’t believe you’d do something like that, making plans behind my back. You consulted your entire family--our entire family about Sonak’s future without me. I--Spock, how could you possibly think I wouldn’t be upset?”

The words had tumbled out in an erratic crescendo, stoking the familiar fire of frustration in him, the still smarting betrayal, and petering out into a soft dejection by the end that lilted into the words that followed.

“I know--I know I’m not always easy for you to talk to. I’m illogical and downright ludicrous if you ask Bones, but...I thought you’d come to me about something like this. That you’d want to.”

Jim trailed off as he felt his eyes sting uncomfortably. His chest felt tight and hot. His fingers had clenched in Spock’s hair without his notice and suddenly he felt taut and on edge, fearfully vulnerable and immeasurably grateful for Spock’s arm supporting him, tethering him to their reality. Jim brought his unoccupied hand to rest on Spock’s and gently rested his fingers against Spock’s knuckles. After a moment’s pause, he swallowed down the hot, gritty emotion in his throat and asked the question that had been languishing in him for weeks; the true, sore center of his anger.

“Do you think he’d be better off on New Vulcan? Better off without me?”

“Jim,” Spock replied immediately, a rare force bolstering his voice. He tugged at Jim’s waist, turning him roughly toward him so that Jim was captive in his grip, powerless in the wake of his piercing, coffee-colored gaze.

“I believe nothing of the sort,” Spock said firmly. “I do not and have never doubted your abilities as a father. Your capacity for caring for Sonak is unquestionable and unparalleled. I have made it clear on a number of occasions and will state it once more: of the myriad lives that your presence improves, I am most gratified that you are an integral facet of both mine and Sonak’s.”

Jim felt his heart swell, hammering into his ribs so ferociously that he was certain Spock could feel it battering against him. And to his horror, the prickling behind his eyes increased at Spock’s declaration. He tried to blink back the impending tears, nuzzling his face into Spock’s neck as he felt an overwhelming wave of affection and embarrassment.

Spock wrapped his arms tighter around Jim’s hips possessively, pulling them closer. “My suggestion that Sonak spend the duration of our impending mission on New Vulcan was not made in regard to your parenting.”

Spock shifted his hands so that his fingers could rub up and down Jim’s spine, his sure-fire means of relaxing Jim when tense or upset. As if on cue, Jim slumped in Spock’s hold, his forehead resting against Spock’s collarbone with a quiet sound of calm.

“Neither were my preparations for such a means to subvert your input or your consent. Rather, it was my intention that by doing so ahead of our departure, I could demonstrate that Sonak stood to benefit from time on New Vulcan and lessen the considerable stress that you feel when preparing to undertake a new mission,” Spock said, somehow managing to sound contrite and determined simultaneously.

He slipped his hand beneath the hem of Jim’s shirt and continued his ministrations while gently pressing Jim closer. “I apologize for causing offense,” he said softly. “I had hoped to diminish the emotional duress you have been under and I have quite obviously done the opposite.”

Jim furrowed his brow, but nuzzled into Spock’s too-warm embrace nonetheless. “I’m not ‘under duress,’ Spock. I’m just frustrated.” He huffed an exasperated breath against Spock’s neck. “I’m sorry too, you know.”

“Your concerns are valid,” Spock said somewhat pointedly. “But your insistence upon denying your emotional distress is illogical.”

Jim lifted his head to peer up at Spock, taken aback. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Spock’s fingers halted against the small of Jim’s back. “Jim,” he said in a minutely gentler voice than usual, what Jim recognized as his conciliatory tone. “I am, as you often say, ‘in your head.’ I am aware of how difficult our last mission was for you as captain, father, and partner.”

Jim pushed back from Spock to look him in the eyes, his heart sinking and hammering at the same time. “What are you saying?”

Spock held a hand out as Jim insinuated more distance between them, which Jim ignored. “Only what is logical to address. Your mind has been in a prolonged state of disarray, beginning 10.6 days after the start of our last mission,” he said softly, in a tone that now made Jim feel like a rabid animal Spock was trying to tame. “It has been of some concern to me recently, though I have been unable to communicate the sentiment to you of late.”

Jim bristled, hackles rising. “Disarray?” he said incredulously. “You mean my mind hasn’t been up to your tidy Vulcan standards while I’ve been running a starship and trying to raise our son while you run around behind my back trying to pawn him off to the highest bidder?!” Jim threw his hands up, heart thundering in his chest in a painful way. “Well I’m so fucking sorry that one of us has to feel something for him!”

Jim’s teeth clacked together as soon as the words left his mouth. His outstretched hands balled into fists that dropped, leaden, to his sides as he jerked his head to the side as if slapped, squeezing his eyes shut. He willed his breathing to even and his heart to calm its stampeding beat. Jim raised a hand to cover his mouth, the other rising self-consciously to his stomach, suddenly tense and sour.

“Spock,” he said morosely, voice wet and tremulous. “I-I didn’t--You know I--Spock--”

Suddenly, terribly, the tears that Jim had been struggling to resist welled in his eyes, blurring his vision as he blinked them down his cheeks. He sucked in a shuddering breath, chest heavy with guilt and shame, the weight of them choking out the last embers of his righteous indignation. He tightened his hold on himself, trying to ground his hectic mind in something more stable than he felt. As he felt his nails cutting into the meat of his palm, a gentler touch enveloped him, long fingers pulling him into Spock’s strong embrace. His familiar warmth and unique scent buffeted Jim’s senses, smothering his negative thoughts in a blanket of affection that made it even harder to stem the flow of his tears. The feeling of their bond thrumming powerfully along his consciousness made Jim swallow down his remorse and wriggle until he could plant his hands against Spock’s chest and push lightly against his hold.

“No, Spock, listen. I’m so sorry, I never should have--”

“Jim,” Spock interjected, for the second time that night in a voice that left Jim no quarter. “We are of one mind, ashal-veh. You need not explain.”

The words cut Jim’s apology to the quick, leaving only a miserable, throbbing pain in the pit of his chest. This man was more than he deserved, more than he could have imagined. He felt wretched, petulant. How could he have lashed out at Spock, accused him of being unfeeling, unworthy of his and Sonak’s love? _Ni’droi’ik nar-tor. Ni’droi’ik nar-tor, k’diwa_. The thought slunk through his mind to Spock’s with the practiced ease of those bonded for decades, not mere years, and the sultry feeling of touching Spock’s mind after so long flooded Jim with the glowing reassurance and thrumming, lively sensation that he had spent weeks stubbornly, foolishly resisting. He felt stupid and childish. Spock was right. He really was a God damned mess.

The sudden touch of Spock’s hand to his cheek made Jim jump. He raised his eyes to Spock’s and felt his breath catch. That look, earnest, calculating, adoring, always made Jim’s stomach churn with desire and gratitude. Those eyes like hot coffee first thing in the morning, deep set and inquisitive; even without their bond those eyes would know him, Hell, had known him even when Jim wasn’t sure he knew himself.

Spock cupped Jim’s jaw, drawing his thumb along the sweep of his cheekbone, and pinned him with a heated look. For a moment, they shared a searching stare, suspended in each other’s gaze, before Spock tilted his head and leaned in, drawing their faces closer until his nose nudged against Jim’s.

“There is nothing to forgive, _k'hat'n'dlawa_ ,” he whispered against Jim’s lips and in an instant, his captain’s arms were around his neck, pulling him down into a desperate meeting of lips and teeth that could only generously be called a kiss.

Spock unwound his arms from Jim’s waist to grip his hips and steadied them both against the abrupt onslaught, then responded with a similar, if not somewhat more subdued fervor. Spock had taken some time to adjust to the human way of kissing, at first put off by its invasive and frankly unhygienic nature. Quickly, however, he learned that human kissing, like many other human norms, became much more palatable when practiced with one Jim Kirk.

He yielded to the habitually insistent push of Jim’s tongue against his lips, welcoming the reinstatement of their intimacy after so long. He felt Jim run his tongue over his own, along his teeth, over the sensitive ridges on the roof of his mouth. Spock savored the sensation, wet and needy and unwholesome, so typical of his captain, his mate. The sharp, sudden pain of Jim’s teeth sinking into his sensitive appendage sent a jolt of hot desire through him.

The bitter, coppery taste of his own blood made Spock’s nostrils flair. His fingers tightened on Jim’s hips reflexively, digging into the skin through the soft material of Jim’s sweatpants. He felt his heart flutter in his side despite himself. Only Jim could manage to sidestep decades of careful practice and meditation so flippantly. Only Jim could make Spock lose control, and more frighteningly, desire its loss. Even as his fingers pressed furrows into Jim’s flesh, as he pulled the man forward roughly to grind their hips together, as he answered Jim’s audacious behavior by capturing his lip between sharp and unforgiving teeth, Spock knew that he was the true captive.

Though he asserted his superior strength over Jim’s body with no hesitation, he could not logically deny that he was truly ensnared by everything Jim was, a willing slave to Jim’s whims, Jim’s desires, Jim’s needs. And just as undeniable was Spock’s indelible craving for the opportunity to serve this man, protect and provide for him, and when doing so meant momentarily taming his wild, pugnacious nature, all the better.

Spock pushed Jim back, shoving him unceremoniously against the door to the room and startling a gasp from him. The momentary severance of their kiss and the jarring shock of the rough treatment gave Spock the distraction he needed to take Jim unawares, raising a hand to the base of Jim’s throat, pressing his thumb to the shuddering pulse before attacking it greedily with lips and teeth. Jim threw his head back, headless of the thunk his skull made against the door, and jerked his hips forward to grind into Spock’s.

“Fuck, Spock,” Jim groaned. “God, baby, I missed you so much.”

Spock replied with a sultry roll of his hips against Jim’s, nudging their growing erections together and savoring the sound it loosed from his mate. He pulled the sensitive flesh at Jim’s pulse between his teeth in an effort to bring another delicious sound from between the lips he so craved when another, much less welcome sound rang out through the room. Jim’s eyes snapped open, wild in their shock.

“Was that--”

The soft yet definitive sound of a knock on the door behind them silenced Jim’s question prematurely and had him squirming in Spock’s grasp, harried, alarmed, and instantly and regrettably flaccid. Spock released Jim and took several steps back, gathering his thoughts from their frenzied state and drawing rapidly on his practiced Vulcan discipline to calm his blood and quiet his pounding heart. Jim straightened his shirt and slid his hands through his hair before turning toward the door. He threw a glance over his shoulder at Spock, who nodded almost imperceptibly, then put his hand on the access panel.

The door slid open instantly, revealing Sonak, standing innocently in the doorway in his own black meditation robe. His small, impassive face fixed Jim with a look that was half appraisal and half, strangely, concern. Jim cleared his throat.

“Sonak,” he said brightly. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Sonak inclined his head. “Father,” he said evenly, then looked over Jim’s shoulder and repeated the motion. “ _Sa-mekh_.”

Jim looked over his shoulder to see Spock returned the gesture, then turned back to Sonak with a loose smile. He put his hands in the pockets of his pants to fight the anxious urge to fiddle with them. Even after almost six years of raising Sonak, Jim couldn’t deny that at times, his calculating stare made him feel uncomfortable, like his son could see right through him. Jim cleared his throat again as he looked at Sonak looking at him.

“Is...everything alright?”

Sonak’s dark eyes faltered for a moment, flitting downward almost guiltily before returning to Jim’s. He held his father’s gaze for no more than a few seconds before diverting his line of sight to Jim’s ear, once again inadvertently alerting his father to his discomfort. Jim’s eyes darted down to Sonak’s hands, and noticed that they were closed into fists. His stomach flopped at the sight.

“I came to inquire after your well-being,” Sonak said matter of factly in his incongruously stern and childlike voice.

A deep furrow grew between Jim’s eyebrows and he drew back. He heard Spock approach, stopping only a step behind him. It comforted him, but only slightly.

“What?”

Sonak’s eyes flicked again to Spock over Jim’s shoulder, then back down, now farther down from Jim’s gaze.

“Your communications with _sa-mekh_ have diminished by 72%,” Sonak said. “Over the past 22 days, you have increased your time spent at Starfleet Headquarters by 36.8%, and your food intake has dropped by 12%, which _sa-mekh_ has informed me is common behavior of a human under some level of emotional distress.” The boy’s voice seemed to waver somewhat. “You have also ceased to cohabitate at night.”

Jim imagined that he could hear his heart dropping and shattering on the floor. His mouth was suddenly dry, and his eyes burned again with the telltale pressure of impending tears. He could only stare, speechless, at Sonak as he continued.

“I heard your voice elevate from the kitchen,” Sonak said, then lowered his voice even further. “And both your and _sa-mekh_ ’s bonds were transmitting...troubled emotions.”

Jim looked helplessly over his shoulder at Spock, whose face was the rigid mask of impassivity that signaled an added effort to control his emotions. When he turned back to Sonak, the boy was standing almost impossibly straight, his pointed eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he raised his eyes back to his father’s.

“I have cause to believe that my presence is adding undue stress to your relationship, and I wish to offer apologies for my imposition.”

A stabbing pang of pain lanced through Jim’s chest so intense that it drew an anguished sound from him. He felt numb, sick. How could he have been so selfish? In all of his cavaliering against Spock’s intentions toward Sonak, he hadn’t even bothered to realize that Sonak had noticed the change in him. He’d been so engrossed in his emotions that he’d completely ignored how they affected everyone else around him. Not only had he hurt his husband, but now his own son was blaming himself for Jim’s weeks long temper tantrum. He wanted to vomit. Instead, Jim crouched and pulled Sonak into a crushing hug. He raised a hand to rest on the back of his head and laid kiss after kiss to the crown of his skull.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jim said in a near whisper. “No, no, that’s not it at all. I just--we--it’s not you, honey. You did nothing wrong, nothing at all.” He squeezed his son tightly. “We are so, so happy to have you here with us. I promise. I promise that, ok?” Jim’s voice broke on the end of his statement, and a second later he felt Spock’s hand on his shoulder.

“Sonak,” that deep, commanding voice said above Jim’s head.

Jim reluctantly pulled back from Sonak just enough to allow his son enough space to look up at Spock, keeping his hands on Sonak’s shoulders.

“Your father and I are both quite well,” Spock said in a carefully controlled tone. “Your presence here with us is no imposition whatsoever, and in fact brings your father great joy.”

Jim threw an intense look up at Spock, whose eyes flickered to him and then back to Sonak. “I, too, am gratified to cohabitate with you during this time.”

Sonak looked between Spock and Jim. “I see,” he said, though the furrow between his eyebrows did not lessen.

Spock stepped forward until he was crowding the doorway beside Jim’s crouched form. “I commend the accuracy of your observations,” he said in an indulgent tone. “It is a testament to your deductive skill that you are able to recognize the changes in your environment so succinctly.”

Jim looked up at Spock again, his face an unmasked visage of incredulous anger that Spock this time ignored. He was prepared to interject, but when he turned back to Sonak, he noticed that his expression had softened, and a modicum of the stiffness in his shoulders had dissipated. Jim allowed himself a small smile and rubbed Sonak’s shoulders as Spock continued.

“However, both your hypothesis and conclusion are flawed. By asserting that you are the cause of your father’s apparent distress, you neglect the nuances of human sentimentality. As you are the aspect of his life that creates the most joy, denying your obvious place of importance contradicts his regard for you, and thus increases the distress he feels, rather than lessening it.”

Sonak’s shoulders dropped further, though his face remained placid rather than pinched. He held Spock’s gaze for a pensive moment before dropping his eyes to Jim’s. Silence reigned for several seconds as Jim fumed at Spock’s emotionless dissection of his and Sonak’s feelings and Sonak regarded him with softening eyes. Finally, he spoke in a voice so full of poorly masked hope that it made Jim’s stomach clench painfully.

“Is this correct, Father?”

Jim cleared his throat. However Spock wanted to slice it with his Vulcan logic, Sonak was still his little boy, and there was no argument to be made against the clear longing in his eyes for validation and, tragically, forgiveness. He reached out and carded his fingers through Sonak’s hair, then pulled him tightly against his chest once more.

“Yes,” he said against the top of Sonak’s head. “I’m perfectly fine. And so happy to have you here with me and _sa-mekh_.” Jim laid another flurry of kisses against Sonak’s hair. “And I promise that I’ll work 36.8% less and eat 12% more for the rest of the time we’re here, alright?”

Sonak nodded against Jim’s shoulder, and Jim was thrilled to feel his small body relax into their embrace for much too short a moment before leaning back. He held Jim’s gaze before looking intently up at Spock and then back. Jim smiled at Sonak and ruffled his hair. “Aaand I’ll work on that communication rate. I’ve got to make up what, 70%?”

Sonak canted his head slightly in a way that was so quintessentially Spock that Jim couldn’t stop the soft chuckle that left him as he said, “Seventy two percent.”

“Right,” Jim said warmly. “Of course. 72%.”

He rose from his crouch somewhat reluctantly and stood just a hair before Spock. Looking down at Sonak’s expectant face, Jim leaned slightly backward to lean against Spock’s rigid form. He extricated a hand from his pocket and let it brush Spock’s thigh. Sonak’s eyes flitted to the sight, then back up to alternate between Jim’s and Spock’s faces.

“Thank you for your clarification on the matter,” Sonak said. His gaze settled on Spock. “ _Sa-mekh_ , are you available to escort me to my bedroom?”

Jim glanced from Sonak to Spock, whose slanted eyebrow was raised sharply. Spock looked at him suddenly, expectant, and Jim smiled, tilting his head toward Sonak knowingly. The elder Vulcan nodded shallowly and walked forward, his own hand brushing Jim’s as he stepped past him.

“Affirmative.”

Jim smoothed his palm over Sonak’s hair and placed a last, lingering kiss to his head. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

The apples of Sonak’s cheeks flushed a light olive. “Rest well, Father,” he said to Jim’s chest. “I..cherish thee as well.”

The warmth that blossomed in Jim’s chest was a balm against the lingering negative emotions that nipped at the edges of his mind. His guilt, his frustration, anger, fear, and shame swirled still in his gut, but the glowing filament of his bond with Sonak hummed happily in the reaches of his mind, dispelling some of the queasy upset attempting to settle there. He watched his son turn and begin walking to his room, but Spock remain rooted to the spot, looking intently at him. Jim padded forward and rested his hand on Spock’s cheek. He pulled him in for a chaste kiss, then trailed his fingers down Spock’s arm to rub gently against his own in another of the Vulcan fashion.

“Go ahead,” Jim said lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

Spock inclined his head and turned without a word to follow Sonak, leaving Jim to stand, smiling in the doorway. His fingers still tingled from the brief caress of his mate. After so many days bereft of the feeling, it was thrilling to experience the sensation again, and an excitement like those of the fledgling days of their courtship flared in him. He felt the sentiment returned across the bond and suppressed the urge to smile. A sense of calm diffused throughout him as he approached his son, falling in step with him just before he reached the stairs.

“ _Sa-mekh_ ,” Sonak said as he began his ascent. “I understand the reasoning that you provided, and I yield to your logic, but I find that I am still concerned for Father.”

Spock crossed his arms behind his back. “What are your remaining concerns?”

Sonak was quiet for the duration of the short trip to his bedroom. Once they arrived at his door, he turned to face Spock, mirroring his posture. His face was characteristically pensive as he spoke. “Father’s emotions seem...disarrayed. More so than you have assured me is normal for him.”

A smile threatened to break through Spock’s emotionless mask. The irony of the situation was not lost on him, but he was certain that Jim would be disinclined to recognize the obvious humor of the situation. Deep beneath his emotional barriers, Spock felt a sense of pride and gratitude that in one innocuous statement his son could demonstrate a depth of logical observation and empathy simultaneously. He filed the thought away for further meditation.

“Your father is exceptional in numerous categorical human standards,” Spock said, another flare of pride licking at the back of his mind. “As such, he represents a singularly unique example of the species and thus his emotional processes can be quite complex and difficult to categorize by Vulcan standards. He is, however, quite well. There is no logical cause for further concern.”

Spock looked down at Sonak and saw the awkward tension of his shoulders and clenched fists, even as he observed the calculating expression on his face. He raised an eyebrow.

“Does this explanation not suffice?”

Sonak lowered his eyes. “No, _sa-mekh_ ,” he answered quickly. “Your logic is without flaw. It is only logical, then, to defer to your superior knowledge of the subject.”

A frisson of confusion and dejection skittered across Spock’s thoughts, only part of which originated from his own mind. He observed the slope of Sonak’s shoulders, the forced neutrality of his expression. His own confusion mounted. He had explained the situation adequately to quell any dissatisfaction Sonak might have had. The boy had even recognized the fact himself. Spock found himself at a momentary loss as to the source of his lingering concern. For a moment he only stared at Sonak, who seemed engrossed suddenly by the pattern of the floor, then he felt a jolt of realization. He had not exhausted all logical possibilities, only those obviously apparent to himself. In doing so, he had overlooked the most obvious possibility of them all, which happened to originate from the perspective of someone else entirely.

Spock stepped forward, closing the distance between father and son. He reached out, slowly, and placed his hand somewhat awkwardly atop Sonak’s head. He let it rest there for a moment. Spock worked equally as hard to repress the feeling of being exposed and strange, having his hand on someone other than Jim, and the feelings of warmth and closeness that surged through him at the rare physical contact between himself and Sonak. He allowed his thumb to stroke the crown of Sonak’s head, exploring the entirely new and deliberate sensation for a short while before stilling himself.

“Your father is and shall always be the best man that I have ever known,” Spock said. “However perplexing his idiosyncrasies, it is illogical to doubt his affection for you.” He lifted his hand from Sonak’s head to rest momentarily on his shoulder. “Or mine.”

Sonak looked up at Spock with wide, awestruck eyes. In them, Spock could see his own reflection, literally and figuratively. He had never planned to be a father, but the look on Jim’s face when he’d seen Sonak for the first time, nearly five years old and newly orphaned had changed everything in an instant. Those hypnotically blue eyes, wide with determination and wonder, the slightest hint of fear and immediate, unconditional love. It was the way Jim looked at him, how he himself had looked at the cosmos as he hurtled through them for the first time, and the way that Sonak was looking at him now.

Spock returned his hands to their usual place clasped behind his back. Sonak’s eyes held his, his expression open and trusting. Spock allowed his own countenance to soften as he stood over his son, watching as his controls slowly rebuilt themselves around him, his posture straightening and face sliding back into a more controlled set.

“I will meditate upon your logic,” Sonak said softly. He turned toward his door and placed his hand on the access panel beside it. He paused, and looked back hesitantly. “ _Rom mu-yor, sa-mekh_.”

Spock inclined his head toward his son. “Rom mu-yor, sa-fu.”

Sonak gave a shallow nod to Spock, then turned and walked into his room. Once the door slid closed behind him, Spock followed suit. He walked down the hall, then paused as he reached the stairs. The golden thread of his and Jim’s bond tugged at him from farther down the hall and around the corner, and he followed until he was standing at the door to their bedroom. He raised a hand and rapped gently on the door, unsure if it would be accessible to him, or at the very least appropriate for him to assume so.

“It’s open,” Jim called in response.

Spock touched his hand to the scanner and the door slid open, revealing Jim lying shirtless in the center of their bed, squinting at a PADD. He walked inside and stood primly roughly a foot from the bed, arms folded. His eyes roved over Jim’s exposed flesh, drinking in the stark contours and planes of muscle, the network of scars like white synapses across his body, the slight but succulent curve of his hips and the thoughtless sensuality that exuded from him so effortlessly.

“You will damage your eyesight further if you continue to read in this manner.”

Jim lowered the PADD onto his flat stomach and sighed. “But my glasses were in the study and it’s so far away.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to respond when Jim cut him off.

“Save it, I know,” he said exasperatedly. “And what are you doing all the way over there?”

Spock’s eyebrow twitched a fraction higher, but he walked to the edge of the bed regardless. “It was unclear if you would desire my company for the remainder of the evening.”

Jim sat up on his elbows, causing the PADD on his stomach to fall carelessly onto the bed. “And now it’s not. C’mere. That’s an order,” he said with a soft smile, motioning with his hands for Spock to approach.

After a second’s hesitation, Spock climbed gracefully onto the bed and laid beside Jim, folding his hands across his stomach. Jim scoffed loudly and began to shift dramatically up the bed until they were side by side, then lifted one of Spock’s arms and put it around him, and finally sprawled himself against Spock’s chest, insinuating his thigh between Spock’s legs. He snuggled his head against Spock’s collarbone and let out a contented sound.

“Mmmm, that’s nice,” Jim said airily. He brought a hand to Spock’s chest and began to pluck at the fabric of his robe, widening the v shaped opening there.

“Is Sonak ok? What happened?” He asked, pulling more at the robe until he could plant his hand firmly into the thatch of dark hair in the center of Spock’s chest. His fingers traipsed through it aimlessly.

Spock let his eyes droop at the sensation, tightening his arm around Jim. “We continued our discussion on the topic of your well-being,” he said slowly.

“And?”

“He struggles to comprehend the intricacies of human emotionality. And your particular eccentricities are proving difficult for him to integrate with his previous upbringing.”

Jim rubbed idly through Spock’s chest hair, occupying his hands more than savoring the intimate touch. The realization irked him somewhat, but the prickling feeling lessened as Jim’s obvious discontent prodded along the edges of his mind. Spock lifted his own fingers to trail lightly against Jim’s arm.

“It is quite obvious that Sonak holds you in exceedingly high regard, but also has begun to understand that you are...it is difficult to quantify your behavior in his existing understanding of acceptable behavior. And by virtue of this, he feels at odds with his Vulcan heritage. Rather than recognize the harmony that can result from the joining of apparent opposites, Sonak views himself as differing from you too deeply on an inherent level for you to accept him.”

A pregnant silence fell over them. Jim curled himself around Spock tighter, tossing his head and settling with his face against Spock’s throat. His palm flattened against Spock’s chest, fingertips pressed into the firm flesh. “So he thinks I’m too human to love him?”

The tone of his voice was one that Spock recognized at once. The tight, forced diction, controlled placidity, an auditory mask instantly and intentionally constructed to prevent any hint of panicked emotion to peek through. It was the voice of a starship captain, a superior officer, and it had no place in their home or in their bed.

“Negative,” Spock said. He drew his fingers down Jim’s wrist to brush over his knuckles. “Sonak fears that he is unable to return your regard in a manner pleasing to you, and expresses some concern about the effects of this inability on your love for him.”

Jim snorted, a warm huff against Spock’s neck that drew gooseflesh across his shoulders. “Sound familiar?”

Spock frowned. “Familiar to what, precisely?”

Jim laughed in response and the sound of it made Spock repress a smile despite his bemusement. Jim shook his head with another breathy chuckle. He nestled in closer, his hair tickling against Spock’s jaw. His fingers continued their lazy traversing of Spock’s torso. He brushed his fingers over Spock’s navel and then dragged them back upward as they met the silky black barrier of the robe’s knotted sash.

“And what did you tell him?” Jim murmured the question into the hollow of Spock’s clavicle. “That my lack of logic is just part of my charm?”

Spock shifted against the bed to allow Jim’s bulk to press more firmly into him. “Negative,” he said. “I informed him that however perplexing your idiosyncrasies, it is illogical for him to doubt your affection.”

Another soft laugh warmed Spock’s skin. “Verbatim, no doubt.”

“Affirmative.”

Jim shifted abruptly, pulling his arm from between his body and the bed to prop himself up on his elbow and pushing his other hand against Spock’s abdomen to leverage himself up enough to look down at Spock with a soft, incredulous look for a quiet moment.

“Spock,” he said, voice dense with emotion. “You really said that?”

Long fingers cupped Jim’s jaw as Spock returned Jim’s loving gaze. He brushed his thumb over the warm angle of Jim’s mandible, relishing the light drag of stubble against his skin.

“Vulcans do not lie.”

Jim laughed again, the sound falling from him like clean rain to water the aching cracks that his absence at left on Spock’s soul. The spark of joy that lit their bond rippled across the very root of him and sent tingling jolts of delight across his body. Jim tilted his head, nuzzling into Spock’s gentle grasp, then pressed a kiss against Spock’s palm. Spock groaned softly before he could stop himself, his hips bucking slightly off the bed. Taking this as sufficient invitation, Jim climbed onto Spock and settled heavily in his lap, raising both his hands to clasp Spock’s slender wrist and bring the captive hand to his lips once again.

“Have I told you lately what a good father you are?” Jim whispered against Spock’s palm, deliberately panting each word hotly into the sensitive flesh.

Spock stifled a pleasured sound. The long, lonely weeks he’d spent bereft of Jim’s presence had taken a toll on him in body and mind, the evidence of the former making itself known against Jim’s backside while the latter took the form of deep, resounding relief tangling in his flaring desire. Now, with the object of his every overdue desire astride him at long last, Spock found that he was near overwhelmed with lust and gratitude in equal measure. He could not have predicted that their reunion would affect him in this way. Only with their sudden alleviation could Spock fully recognize his fears that his and Jim’s relationship had been damaged irreparably by his actions, and to have Jim dispel weeks of anxious uncertainty so casually did nothing but fan his need to reestablish their previously adamantine connection, to demonstrate his longing, his love for the man above him. Spock brought his unoccupied hand to grip at Jim’s thigh.

“I do not believe you have,” he replied in a voice gravelly with possessive desire.

Jim rocked his hips, pressing his ass fleetingly into the growing hardness beneath him and left another, wetter kiss on Spock’s palm. “Have I told you what a weirdly huge turn on that is?”

Spock tightened his hold on Jim, pressing his fingers into the firm flesh momentarily before sliding further upward to cup the underside of Jim’s ass and pushing him downward just enough to rub a teasing friction between their two bodies. “I do not believe you have,” he repeated, his eyes falling almost shut at the sensation.

“Hmmm,” Jim hummed in faux contemplation. “That’s a shame.”

Jim’s tongue slid between his lips, hot on the heels of his smug reply, and traced a hot trail from Spock’s wrist to the pad of his middle finger and back down again, culminating in a sharp bite to the heel of his palm. The Vulcan groaned aloud, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest and planting a kernel of searing lust to bloom in Jim’s gut. He loved the sounds he was able to pull from his stoic lover, and the way they made him feel unendingly powerful and desirable. Jim bit at Spock’s palm once more, a quiet moan slipping from his own lips.

I missed making you feel this way, making you want me. The words echoed through his mind unbidden, trickling through the porous membrane of the bond instantly. Then, almost as quickly, Jim found himself flat on his back, Spock’s dense bulk pressing him heavily into the bed. A dark sound rumbled in Spock’s chest and resonated into his own where they touched.

“There has been no moment where I have not wanted you, not since the first time I had you,” Spock growled against Jim’s throat.

In a swift motion, Spock gathered Jim’s hands from the bed in one of his own and pinned them to the headboard. He savored the sight of holding Jim captive for a moment before ducking his head to attack Jim’s neck with tongue and teeth as he brought his other hand to grip tightly at Jim’s thigh, jerking the muscular appendage in his grasp to hook over his hip.

Jim gasped, overwhelmed. He pressed his head back into the pillows to expose more of himself for Spock to devour as his hips thrust upward helplessly, his other leg rising of its own accord to hook itself over Spock’s hip and complete the tight embrace of his thighs around his lover, ankles crossing and pulling him in tighter. His fingers twitched with the need to bury themselves in the thick, dark strands of Spock’s hair, to run freely over the alluring points of his ears, to rake nails down his strong back. Jim pulled at Spock’s hold and felt his long fingers tighten in a vice-like grip around his wrists, a warning growl working its way from his chest. Jim let out a breathy moan at the show of dominance and squirmed again in Spock’s grip. The movement rocked his growing erection against the matching hardness above him and pulled a strangled groan from his lips.

“Spock, fuck,” Jim swore, voice strained as his body arched under Spock’s ministrations. His lips had travelled down from Jim’s neck to his chest and were leaving hot, wet kisses tantalizingly close to his nipples before doubling back to leave stinging bites along his collarbones. Each pinprick of pain only made his desire sharper, made him throb with need.

Spock bucked against Jim at the wanton cry of his name, grinding himself down between the man’s legs and pressing his rigid member against the bulge in Jim’s sweatpants. He could feel his damp shaft slide against the slick material of his robe and glance across the worn cotton of Jim’s pants to settle in the hollow of his hip. Reigning in the base desire to rut mindlessly into his mate until he found his long awaited release, Spock sucked one final bruise into Jim’s chest before releasing his grip on Jim’s wrists to immediately grasp instead at the waistband of his pants and jerk them down his thighs until they bunched against Spock’s stomach.

Jim unwrapped his legs from Spock’s waist and began to tug at his pants fitfully until he pulled them off and threw them somewhere far away from him, then settled his feet on the bed and sat up just enough to reach for the sash of Spock’s robe and untie it in two harsh, needy yanks. The lustrous black material fell open to expose Spock’s nude form, all chiseled muscle and immaculately groomed paths of jet black hair that Jim longed to trace with his fingers, his tongue. He followed those familiar lines with his eyes from chest down that long, pale body to land on Spock’s erection, full and firm and standing proudly from a patch of trim black hair. Jim swallowed at the sight of it, longer, thicker than his own, the head a deep green across both flares, the firm ridges along the underside darker still, leading to the olive colored folds of his sheath, fully flushed and nearly hidden in the blackness of his pubic hair. He watched as a bead of Spock’s natural lubrication welled at the base of Spock’s cock and rolled down the length of him in a shining trail. He moaned quietly at the sight of it.

Spock shrugged out of his robe quickly, entranced by the sight of Jim’s eyes so glued to his body, enraptured with Spock’s undeniable desire for him. Once divested of his only clothing, Spock settled himself back over Jim’s body, knees pressed to Jim’s inner thighs, and supported his weight on one hand just enough to keep from crushing the smaller man as he slotted their bodies together and then took them both in hand. He hissed at the feeling of touching his intimate flesh to Jim’s and immediately began to rock his hips as his hand pumped them both at a slow, deliberate pace. Spock felt his eyelids droop at the lazy pleasure of it, the enthralling sight of Jim’s face transformed into a mask of need preventing him from letting them close completely.

“Sssssshit,” Jim hissed, his hips pressing upward into Spock’s grasp. His hands spasmed around fistfuls of bedsheets before rising to circle around Spock’s back and splay against Spock’s shoulder blades. “Ah, God, Spock, you’re too good to me,” he groaned, tossing his head against the pillows.

Spock rocked his hips down in a slow, searing grind. “Peace, _ashayam_ ,” he nearly groaned into Jim’s ear. “ _Du nam-tor t'nash-veh ta’an_.”

Jim let out a piteous moan. “No, I--ah--I mean it. I did so many...things wrong. I shouldn’t have just left you--fuck--left you like that. It was--it was childish and irresponsible. Of course he can go, I just didn’t know how to say what I was--shit--feeling. Then when I tried, I said...all the wrong--”

“Jim,” Spock said, his tone too laced with pleasure to achieve the stern tone he wanted. “ _Nam'uh ralash-fam_.”

Jim’s lips fell open as if to protest, but Spock lowered his head and pressed his lips to Jim’s, stealing whatever words would have left him. Spock took immediate advantage of the shocked part in Jim’s lips to plunge his tongue into the wet, waiting cavern and seek out Jim’s own. He stroked the appendage lovingly in warm invitation to play the sweet game of chase and catch that their tongues often engaged in during lovemaking, coaxing it out before swiftly catching it between his teeth.

A shocked groan filled their shared mouths as Spock’s teeth pressed into Jim’s tongue before releasing it and laving over the injured muscle lovingly with is own. Jim responded with equal fervor, pushing up into the kiss and working his lips and tongue around Spock’s, exploring, tasting as if for the first time. The hands pressed flat against Spock’s shoulders slid upward to lose themselves in Spock’s hair, pushing the Vulcan’s lips harder against his and turning their kiss into a clumsy collision of tongues and teeth that neither could bring themselves to mind.

After what felt like an eternity of wet sounds and sliding tongues, Jim jerked his head back and panted into the small, damp space between their mouths, “Spock, please.” His voice was high with need, a panting timbre not unlike a whine creeping into the edge of his words. “I can’t last long. Just, please.”

The sound of Jim begging for him sent a jolt down Spock’s spine, warning him that he too would come undone sooner rather than later if he continued. He managed to draw his eyes away from the erotic sight of Jim’s flushed and sweat-damp face to glance toward the bedside table. With no small amount of self-control, he released his intimate grip from around their damp and throbbing members and reached toward the nightstand. He stopped, fingers rigid in the air, and breathed in sharply as he felt Jim’s fingers encircle the base of him, little finger brushing the hypersensitive skin of his sheath, and pull him forward to nestle the head of his cock against the puckered entrance to Jim’s body.

“Just skip it,” Jim breathed, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I want you.”

“I will not harm you in haste, k’diwa,” Spock said tersely, the temptation to do so tightening his throat.

“Bolaya du,” Jim said shortly, the words one brusque moan as he wormed his body downward, stretching his torso toward Spock’s captive erection in a way that made the low light of the bedside lamp illuminate the luscious sinews of his body.

Spock breathed in sharply. He mustered the floundering vestiges of his self-control and shut his eyes in the hopes that without the sight of Jim’s hand guiding him into the puckered entrance of his body he could focus on the task of convincing Jim not to forego the necessary preparations for Spock to plow into that tight heat as badly as his body craved.

“Jim. You are—I will not—“

“Spock,” Jim moaned, and the sound was a sin in itself. “Just because you can wait doesn’t mean I can.”

A snarl tore itself from between Spock’s teeth. It was obvious that Jim was baiting him, more than obvious, and more so that he was falling for his husband’s tried and true method of manipulating Spock into doing what he wanted. But this time, after all of this time he’d spent wanting Jim just like this, rough and insolent and desperate for him, Spock felt no regret in his failure to resist Jim’s provocation.

In one fluid, powerful motion, Spock captured Jim’s wrist and wrenched his hand from around his member, hissing at the short-lived spike of sensation that was Jim’s fingers flexing around him and pulling as they were brought upward and pinned again above his head. As he pressed Jim’s hand into the pillows, Spock slotted their fingers together and squeezed tightly. He didn’t bother to suppress the groan that escaped him at the feeling of their damp palms kissing, sending sweet sparks of pleasure up his arm. Neither did he restrain the shiver that wracked him as he slid the fingers of his free hand purposefully over his weeping erection, gathering a copious amount of his natural lubrication, and pressed the tip of his index finger to Jim’s entrance.

“You doubt my desire for you?” Spock rumbled, slipping his finger into Jim in one slick motion. “Do you believe I have not wanted this?”

The pace of Spock’s heart thundered higher in his side as he watched Jim’s head fly back into the pillows, his back arching at the sudden intrusion. A vicious sense of satisfaction curled around his burning need as he saw Jim’s narrow hips rock the finger deeper into him, his firm cheeks pushing against Spock’s curled fingers and trying to pull him in farther still. He savored the sight for only a moment before withdrawing his finger almost completely and allowing a second to join in his unforgiving ministrations, pushing in just as surely as the first and tearing a tortured howl of pleasure from Jim’s throat.

“I have wanted for nothing else,” Spock continued, recalling Jim’s noted penchant for “dirty talk,” as he called it, and internally reveling in the way that he could spin Jim to the brink with only a few choice factual descriptions of his desires. “I have burned for you,” he said sharply, punctuating the statement with a sharp scissoring motion of his fingers. “I have dreamt of you, Jim.”

“Fuck!” Jim shouted, his voice pitched high with a tinge of near-panic as his body clamped so tightly around Spock’s fingers that the Vulcan moaned and dropped his head closer to Jim’s. “God, I can’t--I’m gonna cum.”

The words rolled over the hungry recesses of Spock’s mind, his possessive Vulcan pride flaring at the desperate sounds of pleasure leaving his mate, the obvious signs of his need for what only Spock could give stroking his ego, rampant as it ran without his controls in place. That same part of him wanted to taste, to claim, to draw increasingly hysterical sounds and sensations from his husband, while another, saner part of him attempted to admonish him, remind him that Jim’s human body required more preparation in order to take him safely and comfortably, that harming him was wrong, no matter the state of their shared and intensifying hunger.

Spock hummed a frustrated groan as he dragged his fingers out from the tight, wet orifice and promptly pressed in a third. Jim jerked under him, hips flinching back from the intrusion. Spock’s brow pinched with concern and he made to pull his hand from the trembling passage, only for Jim’s hips to chase after the retreating digits with a mewling protestation. He rolled his hips downward, circling them onto Spock’s fingertips and slowly sinking down, allowing himself to adjust as his body opened enough to take them. The sucking heat and moist ring of muscle spasming around Spock’s fingers in a vice grip pushed the Vulcan another dangerous step closer to the edge.

Jim jerked as Spock’s fingers slipped roughly and fully into him. “Oh my God, Spock, please, fuck, I can’t--mmm shit!”

Jim’s hips ground down against Spock’s hand suddenly, his hole clenching and releasing wildly around his fingers as they brushed carelessly over his prostate in an inadvertently cruel gesture that made Spock’s face flush with color. The long-neglected logical part of his mind attempted to alert him how tight Jim still was around his fingers, but shrank back from the forefront of Spock’s mind as the thick haze of lust that he’d been valiantly keeping at bay settled heavily over his senses.

Spock withdrew his hand gently and slid forward on his knees so that his body nearly blanketed Jim’s, hooking his elbow under one of Jim’s knees and spreading his legs to give Spock the space to settle closer. The tip of his cock nudged once more at Jim’s glistening hole. The sight made need bite at Spock’s spine, the impulse to drive into his mate’s willing body almost too strong to bear. With the final shreds of his control, Spock tore his gaze from the welcoming opening and locked his chocolate-colored eyes onto the sparkling blue of Jim’s.

Those unspeakably bright eyes, usually so sharp and hard with dedication or softened into loving looks of affection and pride, were cloudy with desire, pupils dilated and brow pinched with the effort to pull air into his heaving chest. They shared the gaze for a long, heavy moment, before Spock felt the soft, loving prod of Jim’s mind across their bond. I want you. The words, reiterated in this most intimate, most visceral of ways fueled Spock onward without hesitation.

He pressed the head of his cock into the wet, pliant ring of flesh, pushing forward until both the swollen flares of his cockhead were enveloped in tight heat. A shuddering moan left him at the sensation, familiarity and intimacy crashing cacophonously into searing pleasure and desperation for release. An answering hiss rose from beneath him. Spock stilled, peering down through heavily lidded eyes at Jim’s pinched, sweat-beaded face.

“Nng, don’t stop,” Jim whispered tersely, his eyes shut so tight that fine lines creased the edges of his eyes as his chest heaved with the effort to pull in a full breath..

Spock frowned, but the sucking moistness of Jim’s body urged him forward and his hips complied with its insistence, sinking into Jim until he was half way sheathed. The heat and pressure were nearly overwhelming, paradoxically delicate and unyielding, bombarding his cock with slick tightness that pulled him in while pushing him closer to the edge of unspeakable pleasure. He grasped weakly for his controls as he felt his own muscles tightening, tensing in preparation for what was sure to be a powerful and rapidly approaching orgasm.

Spock stilled momentarily in part to catch his breath and in part to ensure that Jim was comfortable. He forced his eyes open to see Jim staring up at him with a stormy, heated gaze, his lip captured between pearly white teeth. Their eyes met and a sudden bloom of dire longing broke in a wave over the bond. Fuck me.

No sooner had the words tumbled into Spock’s mind than he was pulling pack, more harshly than he had intended if Jim’s jerky gasping groan was any indication, and shoving back into Jim with a barely leashed ferocity that made his need corporeal.

“Fuck, yes!”

Jim’s cry filled the space between them, bouncing off of Spock’s teeth and the ceiling in equal pitch as he raised his legs to hook around Spock’s waist. His body was a mess of tingling, burning, sparking, shooting pleasure to match the short circuiting mess that was his mind, broadcasting only the blooms of color exploding behind his eyes as he squeezed them shut as if to block out the overwhelming pleasure tearing through him. He clumsily projected his pleasure somewhere in the vicinity of Spock’s mind in a nearly religious mantra of yes yes please fuck harder yes fuck me baby yes oh god Spock Spock Spock that as of yet hadn’t managed to draw forth the ferocity he craved from the Vulcan, needed to send him hurtling headlong over the edge.

He was just so damn close, so near to that long overdue completion that only Spock could give him; that sensation beyond pleasure, mind, body, and soul, not only overwhelmed but overtaken by Spock’s very essence, the slick and seamless twining of their very beings. He wanted it, craved it, needed to be filled with it, devoured by it. He pushed his nebulous, near delirious thoughts at Spock, followed by a string of more more more harder please more so close in desperate hopes of reaching that transcendent place of all-encompassing completion.

With a deep, animalistic growl, Spock tightened his grip on Jim’s leg and pulled him downward as his hips thrust upward, slamming into him with a force that sent Jim spiralling over the edge, a brilliant flash of white exploding behind his eyelids as his cock sprayed burst after burst of cum onto his stomach and chest, untouched. Jim keened, his body going painfully rigid, his anus contracting wildly around Spock’s member, still pistoning in and out of him with a near fury that bludgeoned his prostate so deliciously that his moans became more akin to screams as he was milked of every last drop.

Jim scrabbled to hold onto the hard, slick plane of Spock’s shoulders, yanking his captive hand free to dig his nails into the Vulcan’s back. He rode the cresting waves of his orgasm hard, meeting the crushing power of Spock’s thrusts with jerky rocks of his own hips as he clung to him with violently shaking legs and twitching fingers. His world was only the blissfully painful pulsing of his prostate deep inside him, sending increasingly intense surges of sensation through him, the thick hardness of Spock’s cock hammering into him, the burning stretch of being held so full. With each stroke of that unrelenting member, the pleasure rippling over him became sharper and sharper, razor edged until it felt like to cut him into shivering, impossible pieces.

Just as Jim approached the brink of his euphoria, crushed by the weight of his own bliss and incapable of thought, drowning in sensation in a way that was almost unbearable, Spock went rigid on top of him, and Jim felt his member pulse strongly inside him as his husband began to cum. Jim moaned at the feeling, not distinctly discernible, but an added wet, warm sensation that he welcomed emphatically, using the last of the flagging strength in his lethargic and abused muscles to clamp intermittently around Spock, working him through the shaking deposit of his seed into Jim’s body.

It was, after all, once of Jim’s most secret pleasures. The filthy, lewd part of him that so loved Spock’s potently analytical dirty talk languished in the feeling of Spock’s explosive and extensive orgasms, the copious amount of cum that he produced and the way it filled him more than any other man could. He frequently begged Spock to finish on his body, coating him with his seed in a possessive and obscene show of ownership, but he loved the feeling of being filled even more, overflowing with the liquid proof of how he had pleased his lover; it sent a dirty thrill through him every time.

Spock’s thrusts slowed gradually to a lazy undulation that Jim met with what little energy remained in him, soft gasps and mewls dropping from his lips like gifts for Spock’s sensitive ears with each small, forward rock of his hips. Slowly, even those movements stopped as Spock lowered himself somewhat shakily to his elbows, body resting atop Jim’s and smearing the slick mess on his stomach and chest between them. Jim hummed appreciatively at the feeling and twitched his hips at the feeling of Spock’s cock resting inside him, accommodating the bulk of it as they shifted together.

Taking the small motion as a not-so-subtle hint, Spock lifted his hips gently and reached a hand between them to extract himself as carefully as possible. He halted just as he gripped the base when Jim contracted powerfully around Spock’s hypersensitive cock, eliciting a sharp glare and a hiss from the Vulcan.

“Don’t,” Jim said thickly, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “I like it.”

Spock’s expression morphed into a look between bemusement and concern. “ _Ashayam_ , I do not wish to cause you any further harm.”

“Oh hush,” Jim said flippantly, scooting his ass downward and drawing Spock back in to the hilt with a sharp intake of breath. “You’re not gonna break me.”

Spock sent another look at their point of connection and felt himself stir at the sight of his cum oozing out of Jim’s asshole onto his cock and dripping over his pink-flushed cheeks. He flicked his gaze upward, and the warm, weary look of satisfaction on Jim’s face convinced him to remain buried inside Jim’s warm and pliant body. He leaned back down carefully, resting his arms on either side of Jim’s shoulders and dropping his head just above his shoulder.

Jim hummed contentedly and brought one hand up to rest on the back of Spock’s head, running his fingers aimlessly through damp raven hair, the other trailing lightly up and down his spine between his shoulder blades. They lay quietly for a time, the only sounds the gradual slowing of their breaths. Jim’s eyes slid shut as he soaked in the usually oppressive heat of Spock’s body on his own, the slickness between their stomach, the dampness between his thighs. He felt an ease settle over him, a peace that had been missing from him for too long.

“Thank you, Spock,” Jim murmured, turning his head so that his lips brushed the crown of Spock’s head as he spoke.

“You have requested this numerous times, Jim, but I am often hesitant because I do not want your anus to--”

“No,” Jim said, laughter redolent in his admonishment. “Not that, jeez.” He carded his fingers through Spock’s hair, gently grazing his fingertips over the sage-tinted tips of Spock’s ears. “Thank you for..for putting up with me. For being so good to me. And to Sonak.”

The warm press of lips against his jaw made Jim tilt his head up and away from Spock, a sigh of content vibrating from his throat as Spock laid his lips upon it again and again in light, wet kisses.

“There was never any alternative, _t’hy’la_ ,” Spock said against Jim’s throat, voice deep with the purring quality that made Jim’s cock twitch between them and heart to clench at the same time. “Not in this or any lifetime.”

Jim squirmed with pleasure and his hole tightened around Spock involuntarily. He sighed, pulling Spock’s head closer to the sensitive column of his throat. “Mmm, say it again.”

Spock huffed an amused breath against Jim’s jaw before planting a kiss there. “You are my _k'hat'n'dlawa_ , my _t’hy’la_ ; half of my soul, my mate and companion to every part of my being.”

A soft, happy exhalation ruffled the hair at the top of Spock’s head, puffing the strands away from his crown enough to give Jim room to plant a soft kiss there. “So does that mean you forgive me?” Jim asked, unable to smother the grin in his voice.

“There is no action that you could take beyond the scope of my forgiveness.”*

Jim wriggled beneath Spock, and the motion caused a stream of cum to spill out of him. He clenched around the stream of it and felt Spock twitch deep inside him. His eyes slid to half mast as he began slowly rocking his hips, allowing Spock to slip a fraction of the way out of him before sliding down to press his buttocks back against Spock’s hips. He watched Spock rise on his elbows to glare down at him and craned his neck upward to steal a quick but heated kiss.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> My Vulcan is terrible and all the product of online ~research~ so please bear with me beautiful amazing people <3
> 
> Ashal - veh: Darling  
> Ashayam: Beloved  
> Bolaya du: Need you.  
> Du nam-tor t'nash-veh ta’an: You are my gift.  
> K'diwa: Shortened form of k'hat'n'dlawa  
> K'hat'n'dlawa: Beloved; half of my heart and soul  
> Nam'uh ralash-fam: Be silent.  
> Ni’droi’ik nar-tor: I beg forgiveness.  
> Rom mu-yor: Good night  
> Sa-mekh: Father  
> Sa-fu: Son  
> T'hy'la: Brother/lover/friend; revered mating bond


End file.
